


Restitution

by Aquila_Star



Series: Powers of Persuasion [20]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Feels, M/M, More Feels, nitty gritty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 02:15:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6781285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquila_Star/pseuds/Aquila_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How it all goes down in the aftermath. Thorin finds he has a lot to apologize for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restitution

“You didn't give me anything to do,” Bilbo pointed out, his voice subdued as he appraised Thorin thoroughly. Thorin met his eyes steadily, though his heart was pounding hard and fast in his chest.

“Because the apology I just made to the others was not enough for what I have done to you. It included you, yes, but I owe you much more than that.”

“All right,” Bilbo said. “Shall we find somewhere a little more private?”

“I'm...not sure if that's a good idea,” Thorin said, the thought of being alone with Bilbo both thrilled and terrified him. 

“Thorin, how do you feel about what happened this morning? Between us,” Bilbo asked, and Thorin's stomach clenched, nausea bubbling upwards once more. 

“I...awful,” he said, then shook his head. “No, that does not come close to describing it. Bilbo, I feel utterly ashamed of myself, I am sickened at the thought of it. That I could have hurt you makes me want to run as far away as I can, although being apart from you is the last thing I could wish.”

“So it didn't make you happy, then.”

“No!” Thorin. “Bilbo, no!”

“Then I don't think we'll be having any problems, do you?” Bilbo lifted a brow at Thorin, giving him a pointed look. Thorin was breathing heavily now, his emotions all over the place, but he calmed at Bilbo's calm, at his surety. 

“Come,” Bilbo said, reaching out a hand and taking Thorin's, squeezing it gently before leading him away from the front gate, not too far, but still far enough that they would not be disturbed. 

Thorin's tight, painful chest loosened at the touch of Bilbo's hand, and he shivered, goosebumps rising up all over his body. He was afraid to touch Bilbo, afraid of what his hands could do, but when Bilbo touched him, freely and without hesitation, it soothed his aching nerves and calmed his breathing. 

Bilbo found a quiet place, at the foot of yet another staircase, gesturing Thorin to sit, which he did. Bilbo sat beside him, close enough to touch, too close for Thorin's peace of mind. He knew that the madness had fled him, he knew that he would never touch Bilbo with force again, not as long as he kept his mind. 

But he hadn't even known that his mind had been subverted. He could not recall when it had happened, although he remembered the urges rising up in him when they were in Laketown. When they'd opened the door he'd felt yet another surge of need, he needed to see the gold, he needed to touch it, he needed to hold it in his hands and _own_ it. He had pushed it aside when he'd smelled the air, felt the stone of Erebor beneath his fingers once more, but then, he'd seen the gold and the need had overwhelmed all else. Now that he seriously thought about it, he realised that it was in that moment, when the mountain filled his senses and the glint of gold was visible, that he had been lost. 

And yet, he hadn't known it. He'd thought himself fine, as always, although he recalled that he hadn't noticed the urge anymore. He didn't fight the urges because they did not register with him. It was his, all of it, and the need was satisfied. He dropped his head into his hands, shaky and weak once more, knowing just how fast it had overcome him was not helpful. It could happen again at any moment.

“No, it couldn't,” Bilbo said. Thorin looked up at his open, sympathetic face and he cringed. He didn't deserve Bilbo's sympathy. And he hadn't realised he'd been speaking out loud. 

“Bilbo, I...” he stopped, unsure of what to say, of how to express to Bilbo how he was feeling. “I have never been so sorry for my actions, ever. I don't think I can make you understand just how horrendous it was, what I was going to...”

“No,” Bilbo interrupted him. “I can hear your remorse in every word, I can see it in your face when you look at me. I want you to know that I understand how sorry you are, Thorin.”

Bilbo got up and crouched down in front of him, grasping both of Thorin's hands in his. Thorin couldn't help but flinch at the touch, as desperately as he wanted it. He let Bilbo hold his hands, unable to close his fingers around them. He knew, he could feel the clarity in his head, he knew that his mind was clear. But it was as if he couldn't trust his hands any more. They had grasped a struggling Bilbo and held him down, and the memory had broken something inside Thorin. 

“Look at me,” Bilbo said firmly, squeezing Thorin's hands harder, bringing his attention back to the present. Thorin looked up, tears clouding his vision, blurring Bilbo's familiar, much loved face. Bilbo's eyes were filled with warmth, a far cry from what they had been that morning, and he was smiling gently, waiting for Thorin to gather himself. 

“I'm only going to say this once, so I need you to listen,” he said. “Are you listening?”

Thorin nodded hesitantly. He needed to hear what Bilbo had to say. 

“I was terrified this morning,” he began, and Thorin squeezed his eyes shut. “No, open your eyes.” Thorin did, and Bilbo started again.

“I was terrified this morning. Because you have never, not once touched me unless I'd invited it. Even that first night, I knew that you would have left if I'd asked you. You've never touched me with anything but respect, and that was seriously lacking today. Thorin, if I hadn't already known it wasn't you, that would have clinched it. It wasn't you, Thorin. I'm not afraid of you now, am I?”

Thorin took him in, his determined look, the affection in his eyes, the strength of his hands where they grasped his. He was on his knees, leaning close, almost between Thorin's legs. When had that happened?

“I'm not afraid of you,” Bilbo repeated. “But I understand if you'll need time. Honestly, I'm not ready to jump back into bed with you, even if there was an opportunity. But please, Thorin, please don't push me away. We're friends, aren't we?”

“You are so much more than a friend to me,” Thorin replied hoarsely. 

“As are you to me,” Bilbo said, moving a bit closer still. “I told you I'd stand beside you, and I will continue to do so. Until this is over, until you are safe and secure and the threats have passed.”

“And then you'll leave,” Thorin said, his voice slipping into a flat acceptance. He had struggled against Bilbo's departure before, had prayed for him to stay, but now...now he knew that Bilbo must leave him. It was for the best.

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “I told you I would help you take your home back, and I will hold to that promise. I meant it. But once it is secure, Thorin...I need to go home. I miss the Shire, and Bag End, and I have responsibilities there. I need to go home. I want to.”

“I understand,” Thorin said, nodding his head. “I needed to come home as well.” He managed a smile, somehow, and the answering one from Bilbo lit his heart. 

“I am sorry, Bilbo. For trying to force you this morning. For treating you as if you were a possession instead of a person. For leading you out your door and into such peril.”

“I am not sorry, Thorin. I am glad to have shared in your perils.” Bilbo held his eyes, and his hands, and, his heart. “And I accept your apology. For everything. I forgive you, Thorin. Remember that.”

Thorin dropped his head once more, holding Bilbo's gaze had become a challenge instead of a gift. 

“Thorin, do you accept my forgiveness?” Bilbo asked, his hand cupping Thorin's cheek and raising his head to meet Bilbo's eyes once more. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” Thorin whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. 

“Then we will speak of it no more. Agreed?” Thorin could see the determination in Bilbo's eyes, he could see the fire that filled him. That spine of steel was on display in his face, and Thorin had never loved him more. 

“Agreed.”

“Good.” He leaned in closer, lifting himself up until his face was level with Thorin's and kissed him. It was soft, hesitant and careful, but it was like the brush of heaven on Thorin's soul. Bilbo's lips clung to his, and the hand on his cheek slipped back to clasp his neck, holding Thorin in place as he gave a more visceral forgiveness with his touch. Thorin couldn't bring himself to embrace Bilbo in return, the memories were still too near. 

He pulled back, smiling brightly at him, a smile Thorin hadn't seen for too long. Thorin's chest warmed through, Bilbo's forgiveness the balm that soothed his tortured soul. He would endeavour to forgive himself, and one day he would be able to look at Bilbo or touch him, without feeling just a little bit sick.

 

* * * 

 

Bilbo didn't keep Thorin from the others for long. It was obvious that Thorin was uncomfortable, and considering the events of the day, Bilbo understood completely. It seemed that Thorin was having a much harder time coming to grips with what had happened than he was. 

It had been horrible, and Bilbo wished that things could have gone differently, but the fact is, the events that had transpired that morning had led directly to Thorin regaining his senses. He could not regret that. Bilbo had been frightened, it was true...and he was still feeling rather shaken and hesitant around Thorin, but he had been there, he had seen the deterioration of Thorin's mind, his slide into madness. He knew that Thorin would never have hurt him, if he had been of sound mind. 

Convincing Thorin of that was going to be more difficult. 

Thorin had left him with a shaky smile, and a promise that he would not keep himself away from Bilbo because of what had happened. It was enough, for now. But Thorin did not linger. He did not touch or kiss Bilbo, would not even stand too close. His mind had been traumatized by the madness and then by the knowledge of what he'd been driven to. Recovery would not be easy. 

Thorin had gone off to help Dori, Nori and Bifur with crashing through the wall they had built only the night before. He seemed better in that element, in motion. Bilbo realised that he needed to do right now, he needed to use his hands and his wit to try and make up for his actions over the last few days. He needed to clear his head. 

Bilbo wandered further in the mountain, heading in toward the main food storage area, which Thorin had directed him to. They had a lot of work to do before morning. Hopefully, they'd be able to get some sleep. 

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, some had been a good estimation of the sleep they would get. The Company had laboured long into the night, pulling all of their finds together and then working in unison to pitch a camp on a large, flat expanse to the west side of the ruined gates. There was less rubble there, and it was reasonably protected by the wind. 

The groups had been mostly successful, they had located a fair amount of stored linens and camping gear. They had recovered and erected several tents, enough for the family groups to claim one each, while another had been designated as a kitchen, with a few long tables and a large covered area outside the canvas walls, where Bombur had constructed a firepit for cooking. Thorin claimed another as a command centre, and, as it was the largest of them, had cordoned off a section for his cot. Bilbo knew he was intending to sleep alone, but there was no way he was going to let the stubborn Dwarf get away with that. Avoidance never solved anything, as far as Bilbo was concerned, though he could definitely see the appeal. 

Cots had been found, of course, and plenty of blankets, towels and stored clothing had been unearthed. Fortunately Smaug had cared little for any part of the mountain that did not contain gold. He had made a mess of the throne room, but Thorin hardly cared about that. Bofur and Bombur had not been as successful with the food, but the provisions they had acquired in Laketown suited their needs respectably, and the kitchen was outfitted well enough for now. 

All in all, the night had been a success. The Company had finally gone to their beds only a few hours before dawn, and Bilbo, in a moment of self sacrifice, had volunteered to take the first watch. He had squashed all the arguments by pointing out that he had done little in the way of physical work, compared to the others, and by agreeing to let Dwalin take over from him in two hours. 

Which left him with only two hours of sleep, but it was the best two hours he had managed since they'd entered the mountain. He had slipped into Thorin's tent, never intending to sleep anywhere else, and had found the Dwarf in question sleeping a fitful sleep indeed. He had been tossing and turning, his blankets twisted around him, and Bilbo felt certain that he was only asleep at all because he had worked himself into a state of complete exhaustion. 

Bilbo had manged to tug the blanket straight again and had tucked himself in, pressed against Thorin's side. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought about how much he had missed this. While they were in the mountain Thorin slept rarely, and then in very short snatches. Bilbo hadn't managed much better, and they had never slept at the same time. 

Already it was like the time in the mountain had been part of a fuzzy nightmare, one that they had all finally woken up from. All except Thorin. His madness had passed, but he still seemed to be living there, his face whenever Bilbo had managed to catch a glimpse in the lantern light had been strained and ashen. 

When Bilbo awoke, he was alone in the tent. Light was only just beginning to filter through the canvas, which meant that dawn was fast approaching. Bilbo scrambled up, rubbing a dirty hand over his tired eyes, trying to perk himself up. He swallowed a few gulps of water from the skin that was lying nearby, though he had only just managed to eat a few pieces of stale bread when there was shouting from outside the tent.

He ran out and met the others, to find that Thranduil and Bard were approaching, the Elven Army on their heels. They both looked rather surprised to find a Dwarvish camp outside of Erebor, the short lived wall in pieces all over the ground, and Thorin awaiting them, looking proud but subdued. Bilbo slipped though the others, all of them standing aside to let him pass, until he reached Thorin's side, giving his hand a quick squeeze and then letting go, just to let him know that he was not alone. 

“This is a surprise!” Bard said from the back of his horse, his face showing his amazement. Thranduil's face gave away nothing. 

“I imagine so,” Thorin said, taking a step closer and gesturing with his hands at all that had changed in the night. “As you can see, we were very busy during the night. I admit, my perspective has changed somewhat. I wish to speak with you both about our predicament, and I would rather do it face to face, but if you choose to remain mounted, I will not begrudge you that.”

“Considering your behaviour in the several last days, you can understand our unwillingness to dismount,” Thranduil said coolly, sitting firm upon his ostentatious elk. 

“Stay up there if you want,” Bard said, shaking his head at his companion. “If you cannot tell from the destruction of the wall and the camp outside the mountain that things have changed since yesterday, then I cannot help you.” He dismounted smoothly, handing the reins of his horse to a page who had been standing behind Thranduil. “I thought Elves were supposed to be observant,” he added with a smirk as he approached Thorin.

“It is good to see you looking well again, Thorin,” Bard said. “I had truly feared for the worst, considering our discussion yesterday.”

“Had things remained the same, perhaps your fear would be justified,” Thorin replied. “But much has changed in the last day, and all of it for the better.”

“I admit,” came another voice from within the ranks of the Elven archers, booming loudly, as if by magic. “That I was fearful myself at what would befall us all this day, having heard the tale of your last conversation.” The archers stepped aside fluidly, parting to allow Gandalf to come forth, his face as lined as ever, but clearly expressing his relief at finding Thorin outside the mountain instead of holed up within. 

“I had feared for you, my friend,” Gandalf admitted as he approached Thorin and Bard, removing his hat and bowing slightly to Thorin, who nodded back. “But I see my fears have been misplaced.”

“Indeed, they were not,” Thorin admitted. “Until yesterday, I was caught fast in the grip of the dragon sickness, and my actions were unpardonable. Many things happened in those days that I regret, none more than...well, it's passed.”

“I am joyful to find it so,” Gandalf said. “But how? I do not know of anyone throwing off the madness without magical aid, and even then, only over a long stretch of time.”

Thorin lowered his head, breathing deeply for a moment before finding the strength to answer. “I am sad to say it was not by my will that it was accomplished. Had it been left to me, I fear that I never would have emerged, from the sickness or the mountain. Fortunately, I was wise enough to accept your council at the start of this journey, and agreed to the addition of your burglar into our Company.”

Thorin turned to look at Bilbo then, his face solemn, but his eyes shining with pride and affection. Bilbo flushed and looked away, caught under the regard of all those present.

“If it had not been for Bilbo Baggins, none of us would be here now. We would not have lived to cross the Misty Mountains, or we would still be trapped within the prison cells of the Woodland Realm,” Thorin said wryly. 

At this, Thranduil had the grace to look abashed, particularly when Gandalf turned his regard toward the Elven King.

“Indeed,” he said, shaking his head before turning his attention back to Thorin. 

“Without Bilbo we would not have survived, that is certain. And I owe him another debt, one I can never repay,” Thorin's words were strained and heavy, he was no doubt thinking of their disastrous encounter the previous morn, and Bilbo wished he could move closer, to grip Thorin's hand in his, or lean on him to show his support, but with all eyes on him, he did not think it would be appropriate. Thorin must stand on his own in this at least.

“Bilbo pulled you from the madness?” Gandalf asked, astounded, his eyes fixing on Bilbo, seeming to look through him in his appraisal.

“He knocked some sense into me,” Thorin said, tenderly rubbing the bruise that had blossomed on his temple. Bilbo had a matching bruise on his heel, though he felt the pain was every bit worth the result.

“Literally,” Dwalin added with a smirk, earning a well positioned elbow in the ribs from his older brother.

“Well, however it happened, I am relieved that it has,” Gandalf said. “But we have much to discuss. I have ill tidings that must be heard, and preparations must be made.”

“First I would like to make reparations to the people of Laketown for their assistance, as well as for my refusal to honour our bargain at our last meeting.” Thorin held out a hand, a contract promptly placed within by Ori, who had scuttled forward at need. Thorin turned to Bard. 

“I wish to fulfil my promise to your people, by providing the gold to buy them food and supplies to last the winter, as well as obtaining all the supplies needed to rebuild the cities of Dale and Esgaroth. I have realised that, without working together in friendship and trust, none of our cities will thrive in the future. There is gold enough in the mountain for all of these tasks and a great many more.”

“That's...more than I expected,” Bard admitted, moving forward to take the contract from Thorin's outstretched hand. 

“Yes, perhaps it is. However, I believe that it is fair recompense for all that the Men of Dale and Esgaroth have suffered at the behest of Smaug. It was my grandfather's obscene lust for gold that saw him collecting the hoard, and therefore, his fault that the dragon was tempted hence. Now, perhaps we can put that behind us and move forward, rebuilding all that was broken.”

“A great portion of the treasure will be needed to accomplish these things,” Gandalf said, watching Thorin carefully. “Are you certain you are willing to part with it?” He seemed to be testing Thorin, but Bilbo was certain that such a test was not needed. The madness was truly gone.

“Eagerly,” Thorin admitted. “Not only will it rebuild the lives of everyone involved, increasing trade once more, and bringing in new people from across Middle Earth, but it will diminish the hoard in such a way that none will dare attempt to capture it again. Erebor will always be a wealthy kingdom, if it houses a thriving community of Dwarves, in concert with the Men and Elves of surrounding kingdoms. But I would never again see it so wealthy with gold and so poverty stricken with life, as it was when we arrived.”

“Wise words,” Bard agreed. “We will gladly accept your offer, once I have read this through.” He held up the contract.

“If you have any questions or need any clarification, please talk to Balin,” Thorin gestured to his adviser, who bowed at Bard with a grin, a pleased twinkle in his eye. 

“I will.” Bard tucked the contract into the inner pocket of his jacket, much to Bilbo's relief. One obstacle was down, but there were still several in the way.

“My Lord Thranduil,” Thorin spoke, turning to the Elf, who still sat atop his elk, glaring down at the others in consternation. If Thorin's voice held a bitter edge, no one commented on it. “I wish to come to terms with your kingdom as well.”

Thranduil sat motionless for several long moments, before dismounting and approaching the party slowly, moving as if he was on a rail.

“I am listening,” he said stiffly.

Bilbo could have sworn he heard Thorin's teeth grinding, but he gave no indication of such. 

“The Woodland Realm is in a position to be vitally necessary to our survival this winter,” Thorin began. “Having the supplies and foodstuffs that are needed to maintain us, although I am expecting much to be procured from my cousin in the Iron Hills, also. Still, your realm is in a position to gain much from re-establishing trade with Dale and Erebor.”

“Go on,” Thranduil said, his chin lifting, making Bilbo wanted to smack him down a few feet.

“In return for your assistance, we will compensate you fairly, even generously, for everything you can provide.” Thorin held out his hand again, and Ori pressed another contract into it immediately. Bilbo wondered idly if Balin and Ori had slept at all the previous night. 

Thranduil sniffed as he took the contract, handing it back to a waiting page, who tucked it away quickly. “There is another matter I wish to negotiate,” Thranduil began, but Thorin interrupted him.

“We will, of course, return the White Gems of Lasgalen to you, as a gesture of goodwill, and as the first step in rebuilding friendships between our two people.”

Bilbo looked beside him, certain that Dwalin was grinding his teeth this time, and then noticing from the corner of his eye Kili's barely restrained glee at the idea. Clearly there was a story to tell there, and Bilbo resolved to digging it out of him at the first opportunity. 

Thranduil was surprised, shocked even, and the sight of his blank face and wide eyes made Bilbo chuckle, straining hard to keep the amusement from his face, though if Fili's answering smirk was any indication, he was not successful. 

“Thank you,” Thranduil replied. “That is...most generous. I will attend to the contract immediately, and advise you as to any necessary changes.”

Thorin nodded, and Bilbo could barely restrain a grin of happiness, as it seemed that things were going to be resolved without bloodshed, after all. He snuck a quick look at Gandalf, who had been silent through the proceedings, watching avidly the interactions between Thorin and the others. 

“However, before I will allow one piece of gold or gem to leave the mountain, there is another matter that must be attended to.”

Bard and Thranduil looked alarmed and wary, while Gandalf's eyes narrowed.

“What is that?” Bard asked, arms now crossed over his chest as he regarded Thorin.

“That treasure has been under the brood of a dragon for well over a hundred years. I do not know how much of the magic was to blame for my...affliction, and how much was my own weakness, but I will not take the chance of it harming any other being. My mind under the sway of the gold sickness was...troubled, and I have no wish to see such trouble befall any other. Gandalf,” he said, turning to the wizard hopefully. 

“I must ask your assistance in this matter. I have hope that you will be able to lift the sickness that lies over the gold, to release it from the evil of the dragon, allowing us to use it for the purpose that it should have been used. To rebuild and maintain our kingdoms.”

“I think that would be very wise,” Gandalf replied. “I will set my mind to it at first opportunity. However, I have news for all of you, and it is not good.”

The others shared a look, as Gandalf heaved a great sigh, looking suddenly very weary. “I have tidings of an Orc army.” There were gasps and looks of alarm at this, but Gandalf ignored them and continued. “It is on its way, and will likely arrive today, or tomorrow at the very latest. I am pleased beyond measure that you have taken such great steps at reestablishing your friendships, but now you must turn your focus to defending yourselves against a very great evil.”

“An Orc army?” Thorin asked harshly. “How many? How far off are they?”

“Many thousands at least,” Gandalf replied. “And their arrival is imminent.”

“My legions have not the numbers to defend against such a foe, Gandalf. And the Men of Laketown, while hardy and brave, are poorly fed and even more poorly trained. I fear such a battle will become a rout.” Thranduil was showing slight signs of concern on his face, and Bilbo wondered just what it would take for that mask to crack. 

“Thank Mahal for Dain,” Thorin said, looking between the other three. “My cousin and his army are due to arrive anytime, having set out from the Iron Hills not long ago. I had thought I would need their support to withstand the Elves, but...” he broke off, looking stern but also a bit ashamed. “At any rate, I would much rather have them destroy the Orcs.”

“Indeed,” Gandalf said. “We have much to plan, and our time is short. We cannot delay.”

And with that, Thorin led the four of them to his tent, nodding at Balin and Dwalin to follow, barking orders at the rest to gather their weapons and armour, to eat and take any time the could to rest before the Orcs arrived and the battle began. Bilbo was left in the dust, at a loss as to what he should do, so he scampered after the Dwarves, to pitch in wherever he might be needed. 

 

* * *

 

I was shortly after the afternoon meal that Dain arrived. There was a tense moment as his Dwarves lined up opposite the still ready Elven army, but it was soon extinguished by Thorin, who greeted his cousin eagerly, explaining the situation quickly. Dain immediately joined the others in the war tent, as it was now being called, a title which made Bilbo roll his eyes. He had joined Oin during the morning and was helping to stock the largest tent that could be found and had been set up quickly with clean linens and any medical supplies they could get their hands on. The camp was a flurry of activity, and suddenly, it was filled with a multitude of Dwarves as some of Dain's men began helping in the preparations, the others filing up in ranks to await the oncoming horde. 

“Bilbo,” Ori called out, ducking into the large medical tent, his eyes darting about until they fell on Bilbo. “Thorin is asking for you, come quick. The Elven scouts have sighted the Orcs, they will be here within the hour.”

Bilbo nodded to Oin, who waved his hand and turned back to his work, intent on having everything he needed at hand before taking himself off to the battlefield. Among the Dwarves, no one was untrained in the art of fighting, if only for purposes of defence. Bilbo was still baffled by such an upbringing, but then, he had been raised in the quiet peace and tranquillity of the Shire. 

He followed Ori to the war tent, to see that the hastily formed council was leaving, moving to their positions, to finish their preparations. Gandalf sat on a stool nearby, taking long draws off his pipe. Bilbo smiled at him as he passed, and Gandalf winked at him in return. Bilbo shook his head. Wizards were impossible to understand.

Ori left him at the door of the tent, giving him a smile before leaving, no doubt to find his brothers and wait with them. Bilbo watched him go before turning to the tent, taking a deep breath before slipping through the flap in search of Thorin.

He did not have far to look, although Thorin was not in the main area, where a table was spread with the remains of food and maps of the area, some of them frayed and falling apart from age and disuse. Bilbo slipped through the drape that separated Thorin's cot from the rest of the tent, unsurprised to find him there, fastening the last of his armour, forgoing his heavy fur coat for the sake of mobility. 

“You wanted to see me?” Bilbo asked, meeting Thorin's eyes and smiling. The blue of Thorin's gaze was still guarded, but his eyes were warm and pleased to see Bilbo, a fact that made his apprehension ease whenever he looked into Thorin's face and found it clear of madness. Thorin had been taken over by the dragon sickness so completely, and for a time Bilbo had begun to despair that he would ever see Thorin's eyes clear again. Every time he did, every time he saw Thorin's eyes clear and affectionate once more, he felt the same crushing relief. 

“Bilbo, yes,” Thorin said, his eyes showing his pleasure at Bilbo's presence, though his body language spoke of the hesitation and regret that still plagued him. “We have uncovered something in the armoury that I would have you wear.”

“I can't wear Dwarf armour, Thorin,” Bilbo said. The idea was laughable. “It would be much too heavy, and too large, besides.”

“But this was not made with a Dwarf in mind,” Thorin replied, picking up a shimmery, silver shirt from the bed and holding it out to Bilbo. “It was fashioned for a much slighter person, in fact, an Elfling. I am sure it will fit you well.”

“It's still armour, Thorin, and much too heavy for me.”

“Indeed, it isn't,” Thorin said, shaking his head. “It is made of mithril, silver steel, stronger than any metal yet discovered in Middle Earth. It is as light as feathers and as hard as dragon scales. You will not notice its weight, and yet it will turn any blade that may strike you.”

“Really?” Bilbo moved forward, reaching out to touch the material, which was all but transparent. “It's beautiful.”

“It is, yes,” Thorin agreed. “Put it on, quickly, we are running out of time.” Bilbo nodded, undoing his coat with nimble fingers, while Thorin help up the mail for him. 

“I would rather have you far from the battle, amralime,” he said quietly, his eyes averted from Bilbo's body as he removed his coat. “But I know you well enough to know that you could not abide standing by, hiding for your own safety while others put their lives on the line.”

“No, I couldn't do that, Thorin,” Bilbo said. Slipping his hands into the shirt and letting it fall over him. It was light, weighing no more than the cotton shirt he wore beneath it. “But I still look ridiculous in this.”

“I do not care how you look,” Thorin said firmly. “I care only that you are well protected.” He stopped to admire Bilbo as he picked up his coat, fastening it over the mail shirt. “But I find the sight of you in Dwarven made mail to be quite beautiful. And knowing you are as protected as I can make you will ease my mind.”

“Thank you, Thorin,” Bilbo said, still feeling awkward, but willing to do what he could to set Thorin at ease.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, moving closer, laying his hands on Bilbo's shoulders, touching him willingly for the first time since he'd regained his senses. He looked deep into Bilbo's eyes, letting his head drop to meet Bilbo's gently, breathing deeply of the air between them before pulling back. “Please, do not put yourself in more danger than you can avoid if necessary. You have a broad streak of recklessness in you, but I would see you safe through this battle. Promise me you will not endanger yourself needlessly.” His eyes were intense and sincere, and Bilbo could not tear himself away.

“I won't, Thorin, I promise.” He smiled softly, hoping to soothe Thorin's fears, but determined to add his own condition. “But I will not withhold myself from danger, if someone I care about is in need of help. I couldn't, do you understand?”

Thorin nodded, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again, fear and resignation filling them, but his face was soft, his worry and love written all over it. He leaned forward hesitantly and kissed Bilbo, soft and lingering, and his heart soared with joy at the touch. Thorin had avoided him over the past day and before that he was unbearable to be around, so to have him so close now, willingly, it gave Bilbo hope that he would heal completely in time. 

Soon they would be called to the battlefield, and things would happen that they could not predict, no matter how prepared they were. Bilbo prayed, to Yavanna, to Mahal, to Eru himself, that they would bring him through the coming day. That all those he loved would survive, that they would come out on the other side, whole and healthy. 

Even he knew that it was too much to ask.

**Author's Note:**

> Boy, this was a long one. It was actually kind of hard to write, so I left it last night, came back to it this morning and pretty much finished it off. Then, instead of writing the next chapter, I threw myself into the ending. Sheesh...I need to get there, first. 
> 
> I kind of feel sad about no smut again, but whaddaya gonna do? The story is in a tight place right now, so yeah. My smutty bunny turned into a plotty pony. Wtf? Maybe that's why I was writing the end...*whistles innocently*


End file.
